


saving all my love for you

by cherryvanilla



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Bodyguard, Brief Kane mention, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 05:19:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3237767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the three years since being in the direct employ of the Crown Prince, Brent has strived to be nothing less than professional. Prior to his reassignment, he never allowed silly dalliances to cloud his judgement or his ability to perform his work, and he hadn’t planned on that beginning thereafter. He’d say he’d done pretty well for himself, for the most part. </p><p>Which was why he almost couldn’t fathom how it came to this. In a darkened courtyard, his back against a pillar, and Prince Jonathan’s lips wrapped around his dick, giving him the hottest blowjob he’s ever had in his twenty-five years on earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	saving all my love for you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [captaintoews](https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaintoews/gifts).



> Apparently the easiest way to get me to write something I'm not even sure I completely ship is say the words bodyguard/prince au. This was inspired by two different sets of tags, one by Mel (hi Mel, this is mostly for you!), on [this](http://darthtulip.tumblr.com/post/108947487870/1-23-15-all-star-weekend-media-day-jonathan-toews) perfect gifset.
> 
> Huge thanks to torigates for beta! <3
> 
> Title by Whitney Houston because this is a ridiculous cheesy romance. 
> 
> Originally posted on tumblr and then expanded by about 1500 words. 
> 
> Blink if you miss it mentions of past tazer/kaner and tazer/dan.

Brent has been in the Royal Guard since he was seventeen. Five years later, Prince Jonathan, on his nineteenth birthday, was officially crowned ruling Prince of Canada. Brent was reassigned as his personal bodyguard, when it was decided an up in security was needed.

“You are the best we have,” King Bryan told him. 

Brent swore not to let him down. 

__________________________________

In the three years since being in the direct employ of the Crown Prince, Brent has strived to be nothing less than professional. Prior to his reassignment, he never allowed silly dalliances to cloud his judgement or his ability to perform his work, and he hadn’t planned on that beginning thereafter. He’d say he’d done pretty well for himself, for the most part. 

Which was why he almost couldn’t fathom how it came to this. In a darkened courtyard, his back against a pillar, and Prince Jonathan’s lips wrapped around his dick, giving him the hottest blowjob he’s ever had in his twenty-five years on earth. 

___________________________________

Prince Jonathan had started out shy, and a little wary around Brent. He had a deer-in-headlights look at times, and Brent could understand why. Despite being brought up as royalty, despite knowing it would all be leading to this, it was another thing to make it to the main event. But even in those earlier days, Brent could tell he was a natural. He was nervous, sure, but he was also charismatic. He could hold the attention of a room in the palm of his hand. Intelligent and well-spoken, Prince Jonathan was groomed for this since he was a child. It was incredible the way he carried himself, his dedication, his drive to be the best ruler, best _person_ he could be. To Brent, he was a born leader and it was already a privilege to be serving him. 

During most of the first year, he held strong to his convictions of upholding a professional relationship, despite Prince Jonathan’s attempts at making them friends. Brent was set up in the room connecting Prince Jonathan’s, so that he could arrive quickly in any type of emergency. After the first few months of Brent’s assignment as Royal Bodyguard, Jonathan tried to leave their adjoining doors open so they could easily speak to one another. Each time, Brent would close it in his face. The next morning, when Jonathan met his eyes across the breakfast table, to where Brent was standing by the door arms at his side, his expression was one of hurt. Brent already ate downstairs in the soldier quarters, and was now ready and waiting for them to be off. 

He knew Prince Jonathan had friends, but he also figured being sequestered to the palace, royal grounds and home tutorage while his friends were off at proper Universities could get kind of lonesome. But Brent’s charges weren’t his _friends_ , they were his work. And he couldn’t allow them to cross that line. Couldn’t allow _Jonathan_ to cross that line. He was there to perform a service and, if necessary, to lay down his life for his country. 

Despite Brent’s best efforts, their relationship changed irrevocably, and perhaps inevitably, when one night Prince Jonathan opened their connecting door and looked at Brent, eyes a little desperate. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said. 

Brent couldn’t close the door then. He stepped into Jonathan’s quarters, listened to the Prince bear his soul; the fear he had at ruling a nation, that he was too young, too inexperienced, not good enough. The fear he had at picking up guys, if people would care, if _he_ should care even if they did. Before that evening, Brent hadn’t known Jonathan was gay and he bit his lip on his own confession. He wasn’t paid to talk about himself. He was paid to be here for the Crown Prince. 

In his entire career, Brent had never been anything less than professional, but that night when Prince Jonathan slumped beside him on the sitting room couch, Brent could do nothing but put an arm around his shoulder and hug him close. Jonathan tucked his face against Brent’s neck and held on, the two of them seated in silence, only the sound of Jonathan’s uneven breathing between them. 

The next morning Brent awkwardly told Jonathan he could… subtly arrange for men to come to the palace, if he wished. Jonathan’s eyes had widened, a look of almost innocent shock on his face, and he shook his head immediately. 

“No, I. If I’m going to do that, I want it to be natural. And not about who I am or the privacy, you know?” 

Brent knew. 

__________________________________

He no longer slammed the door in Prince Jonathan’s face after that. Brent would indulge him in idle conversation for a while, the two of them seated on that same couch until Brent returned to his own quarters. 

By Jonathan’s twentieth birthday, a year in his employ, Brent had physically protected him twice. Both times were from idiots in bars. Prince Jonathan never seemed to realize what was happening until Brent already had the guy knocked out cold. Jonathan may be smart, but he couldn’t handle himself when disgruntled civilians attempted to throw fists at him. Or when a simple conversation over the state of the Nation turned into a shoving match. Each time, he would be a little dazed, and also a little drunk, loose and easy under Brent’s hands as he was then ushered into the car. 

“Are you alright, Your Highness?” Brent asked after both incidents. 

And each time Prince Jonathan stared at him, a little wide eyed, and then mumbled petulantly. “I could’ve handled myself.” 

Brent had to bite back a smirk and a smart remark. 

Almost worse than the physical altercations was going out to discreet gay bars when the Prince wanted to hook-up. Brent wasn’t sure why it made his stomach drop the few times Jonathan did actually leave with someone: Brent in the front seat of the limo to give them privacy rather than riding in back across from Jonathan, as was their norm. Brent standing outside the door of whatever location they went to and trying to ignore the muffled sounds of moaning he could hear through the wall on occasion. Brent not quite being able to meet the Prince’s eyes afterward, but also not being able to look away from his open collared shirts and how he could see the remnants of a flush gracing his neck and the tell-tale mark of stubble burn. 

It had been easier in the Royal Guard. He had been protecting a thing. An idea. Freedom. Country. The shift to personal protection had messed with his head a bit. He was suddenly laying down his life for another person, if need be. His sole focus was the Prince. 

The Prince, who constantly insisted with a teasing smile that Brent call him ‘Johnny’ instead of ‘Your Highness’. The Prince, who groaned and put a pillow over his head when Brent came to wake him up, before rolling sleepily out of bed, half naked and rumpled, scratching at his bare abdomen, while Brent’s eyes following the movement helplessly. The Prince who, one drunken night, after his 21st birthday party, threw his arm around Brent’s neck as they were making their way back up to their rooms, slurred, his breath hot on Brent’s face, “Seabs. Seabsie. You’re my favorite, buddy.” 

He’d never called Brent a nickname before, and he knew Prince Jonathan adored giving nicknames to his friends (Sharpy and Duncs, Jonathan’s childhood friends whose parents’ had known Queen Andree and King Bryan since before Jonathan was born, came to mind) and even to the few ex-boyfriends he managed to have (Kaner and Watty were the only two he knew about). 

His stomach had flipped stupidly and he pushed Prince Jonathan up against the wall, hoping he’d stay upright while Brent opened the door to his room. 

Then he led him into the room and found himself standing at the edge of the bed while Jonathan collapsed onto the bedsheets, still whispering, “Favorite, Seabsie boy. So good to me.” 

He hadn’t been proud that he’d gone back to his room, locked the door between them, and jerked off hard and fast, Jonathan’s voice echoing in his ear, the memory of his breath on Brent’s neck, the way his hand went around Brent’s waist as his fingers scrambled for some purchase. Jonathan was a happy, fun drunk and Brent loved watching him be so open and unguarded. He had to hold himself to a certain standard on the grounds and with the Royal Court, but watching him with friends, or out in bars, or even when it was just the two of them in Jonathan’s quarters-- it was a delight. He filled Brent with a sense of rightness. 

He hated himself for making it dirty, hated himself for letting thoughts that were admittedly long dormant come to the surface, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted Jonathan like a burning fire and it was wrong. It was unprofessional and tasteless. 

He still came, panting against the sheets, sweat dripping off his forehead, and the name “Johnny,” on his lips, allowing the indulgence for just this one night. 

___________________________________

After that Brent decided he should try dating or else go mad. He wasn’t blind; he recognized the way Duncan Keith would look at him when Brent would hang back to the side of the bar, letting Prince Jonathan have his fun with his friends. Jonathan had even teased him about it once or twice, until Brent shut that down so to regain some semblance of professionalism. 

He let himself be drawn into conversation the next time they were out and before long, Brent had himself a boyfriend. 

“You never said anything,” Jonathan said when Brent told him, figuring he had to now because he was dating the Prince’s friend. 

Brent shrugged and then realized that probably wasn’t proper. “I didn’t feel it was my place to, Your Highness.” 

Jonathan sighed. “Brent, I-- I consider you my friend. When we talk it’s just that. _Talking_. Not-- one sided, you know?” 

“You’re my prince, Your Highness. First and foremost.” 

Prince Jonathan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, fine, whatever,” he said a little shortly. “Congrats about Duncs. He’s a good guy.” 

Brent’s face felt warm and he looked off to the side of the room, swallowing. “Thank you.”

He kept it on the downlow after that, did not let it interfere with his work. It was a little different, though. Instead of standing off to the side, letting Jonathan have his time with his friends, Brent sat at the table with them. He didn’t drink, because he was on the clock, but he indulged in chips and wings, and he had Duncan close to his side and Jonathan’s laughing voice across from him. Jonathan met his eyes a few times, raised his beer in solidarity. It felt-- good. Like he was meant to be here. 

Aside from that, he resigned himself to all of their meetings happening in Brent’s room rather than Duncan’s apartment, since he needed to be present at all times. It was a little weird, fucking somewhere next door to the Prince of Canada. It was even weirder doing it next to his boyfriend’s friend and a someone he personally had fantasized about. 

Still, he wasn’t necessarily expecting Prince Jonathan to announce he’d be taking on a second bodyguard. 

“It isn’t fair to you,” Jonathan said, not meeting Brent’s eyes. His face was tight and Brent felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. “You sleep with one eye open as it is. And you-- you should have a life.” 

Brent nodded in acquiescence, knowing it was logical. “If this is what you want.” 

Jonathan opened his mouth as if to speak and then thought better of it. “It’s the only logical thing. You may be the best the guard has, but you’re still only one man.” 

Jonathan was right, but Brent still didn’t have to be happy about leaving Jonathan’s employ at the end of the evening, with someone he didn’t even know. The first night at Duncan’s he was so distracted he could barely get it up. The massage he received helped and so did the jacuzzi tub, and after that he managed to stop thinking. 

“Good night?” Prince Jonathan asked the next morning when it was just the two of them in the back of the limo, on his way to a Royal Assembly meeting. 

His tone was light and teasing but Brent noticed his smile didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Yes, Your Highness. Thank you.” 

Jonathan sighed, dropping his eyes. He muttered, “Johnny,” so quietly that Brent barely heard him. 

Brent’s lips parted but he said nothing. 

Things lasted with Duncan for six months before Brent realized despite their chemistry they were better off friends. 

He asked to be Prince Jonathan’s full-time bodyguard again. 

“If you’re sure, man,” Jonathan said, but Brent could see the twinkle in his eye, the one he hadn’t seen in months. He didn’t really want to be anywhere else, to be quite honest. 

____________________________________

During a trip to Montreal that was part business and part pleasure over Prince Jonathan’s twenty-first birthday, everything changed. The two of them were in Prince Jonathan’s suite at The Embassy. Jonathan, having just having finished with a crucial state meeting, was exhausted, and slumped over the side of the couch in the sitting room. 

Looking back, all Brent remembered now was Jonathan’s smiling face, the lilt of his voice as he was asking what they should order in for dinner. How he’d teased, “Spare no expense, buddy, it’s on the Prime Minister’s dollar.” Brent had laughed in return, the bubbling kind that still caught him by surprise even now when he looked at Jonathan, despite long coming to terms with his feelings. 

And then he saw it. A red dot reflecting off the setting sun through the pane of the window. His instincts took over and he dove into Jonathan, knocking them both back and onto the ground just as bullets began riddling the air. 

“Stay down!” Brent yelled, reaching for his comm to alert the rest of the task force what was happening. He could feel Jonathan’s chest rising and falling beneath his own, could hear how loud he was breathing. 

When it stopped, he looked down and was met with wide eyes. “Your Highness. Jonathan, are you alright?” 

Jonathan was still staring up at him in shock, their faces inches apart. Brent raised both hands to his cheeks, cupping them. “Johnny!” he yelled. “Are you okay?” 

Jonathan blinked hard and Brent’s own brain caught up with his mouth, realizing what he’d just said. 

“Johnny,” he said again, softer, and watched him nod, licking his lips. 

“Yeah. Yes, I’m. Seabs--” he said, voice a choked whisper. 

Brent’s thumbs were still brushing his cheeks, their eyes locked. The gaze felt weighted, felt like it was the most important moment of Brent’s life up until now. 

He felt himself swaying forward minutely, as if a gravitational pull was forcing him down. He watched Jonathan lick his lips again and then-- 

\--And then the door was bursting open and the cavalry was coming in. Brent rolled off Johnny -- Prince Jonathan, Jesus-- and pulled him up. 

It had been a flurry of movement after that. Jonathan was whisked away to get checked out, Brent and the Royal Guard secured the area and stood on watch until word was given for them to fly back to Winnipeg. 

Once back home, they still hadn’t talked about it. They’d shared looks on the plane, in the limo, over breakfast. Jonathan was forced to see another royal doctor, and then a royal psychiatrist, because apparently even if you’re a prince and you say you’re fine, no one believes you. Brent made his own appointment with the royal psychiatrist because he had a revelation after that moment at The Embassy. It was a Holy Fuck I’m in Love, Like Real Actual Roses and Hearts and Valentine’s Day Love moment, but it was also something more than that. It was the knowledge that he would’ve gladly taken a bullet for Jonathan that day. Not in the hypothetical way that his had always job dictated, that he had to sign up for when he took it. But in the way that if he had the choice between him going down or Jonathan, it would be himself. That he cared more if Jonathan lived than if he himself died. 

And that had way more to do with just his assignment. 

It was a freaky fucking thing to realize. He signed up to protect his nation and then to protect the future ruler of that nation. He never once doubted that he’d give up his life for his country, but his nation was a concept. Until that moment he never knew that he’d absolutely, without one ounce of doubt, give it all up for another human being. For Jonathan, no matter what. 

He spent a week talking it out during his mandated therapy appointments, and felt better about things. He felt comfortable in his own head and feelings for the first time in a long while, and he told the doctor perhaps he’d continue sessions. The doctor was sworn to confidentiality, of course, but he made it known he was worried about Brent’s judgement when it came to his charge. He suggested if things escalated between them that he should ask for reassignment. Brent knew he wouldn’t be making any first moves, though. He simply couldn’t. Shouldn’t. 

He and Jonathan still hadn’t spoken about anything, had barely talked at all. 

The looks between them didn’t end though. Jonathan was looking at him with new eyes now. Nakedly, and with something like want. Brent was waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

It started with a whimper, after a Royal Ball, the Prince bored and annoyed at having to dance with people he didn’t want to spend time with. He met Brent’s eyes continuously throughout the night, and Brent wished he could read what was behind that gaze. Whatever it was, it took his breath away. 

At the end of the evening, alone in the limousine, Prince Jonathan pinned him with his gaze. “Thank you,” he said quietly. 

“I’m sorry, Your Highness?” Brent asked. 

“For saving my life. I don’t believe I ever said thank you.” 

They finally caught the person two days earlier. A disgruntled Montreal native, unhappy with the state of politics in Canada. No history of violence, motivation at this point not really clear.

“It’s my job,” Brent replied helplessly. 

“I think-- abstractly, obviously, I knew that. But-- I’ve thought of you as more than just a bodyguard, and to see that. To be reminded what you’re really here for--” 

“Your Highness--” Brent interrupted. 

“No, Brent. You could have died for me.” 

“You are my prince and my duty,” Brent said, voice hard. 

“This is more than that and you know it,” Jonathan says, voice insistent. “When it happened-- when we were--” 

Brent’s heartbeat picked up with every word from Jonathan, until he was cut off by the sound of the car coming to a stop in front of the palace. 

“It’s late, Your Highness, and you have an early day tomorrow,” Brent said, silently breathing a sigh of relief.

They exited the vehicle and Prince Jonathan remained silent until they got to their rooms. 

“You know,” he said, turning at his door to Brent. “For someone so fucking brave, you can be a real coward.” 

Brent didn’t sleep well that night. 

The bang occurred over breakfast the following morning. 

Brent was standing at post as usual, Jonathan dutifully listening to Queen Andree speak about the agenda for the day. As she paused to say something to King Bryan, Brent noticed Jonathan quickly typing on his phone. He spared a brief moment to wonder who he was texting -- Jonathan rarely used his phone at the table, a product of his raising -- until he felt his phone buzz quietly in his jacket pocket. 

He looked at Prince Jonathan, but he wasn’t meeting Brent’s eyes. Brent lifted the phone out of his pocket and nearly choked. 

_if this is the only way i can speak to you then so be it: i’ve been jerking off to thoughts of your body on top of me, to the way you looked at me, like you wanted to… I can’t stop thinking about it. God, brent, i want you to_

His cheeks flamed immediately and he fumbled the phone back in his pocket, trying to get his breathing under control. He couldn’t respond to that, not now, not here. He could barely _process_ it. 

He didn’t meet Jonathan’s eyes for the rest of the breakfast. Afterward they were joined in the limo by the king and queen, who kept Jonathan occupied with idle chatter. Regardless, Brent still felt the heaviness of Jonathan’s text in his pocket, and his stare nearly the whole ride. 

That evening after dinner, Prince Jonathan cornered him as they were walking through the library and back to their rooms. “We need to talk.” 

“I don’t believe we do, Your Highness.” 

“I’m not fucking imagining it,” Jonathan hissed. “I wasn’t the only one in that room.” 

“I--” Brent said. Turning abruptly, he came face to face with Jonathan, taking in his fiery expression, his anger and _want_. Jesus. “Let’s take a walk in the courtyard,” Brent said, clearing his throat. 

It was dark and they had privacy away from the walls of the palace. 

“It was a traumatic event and now you’re-- feeling things for me,” is what Brent opened with, when they stopped by the fountains. It was something he’d been thinking about it all fucking day, Jonathan had been through the unthinkable, and adrenaline and emotions were bound to run high. It made him think things-- feel things that he didn’t. 

“Bull-fucking-shit, Seabs,” Jonathan said, crossing his arms over his chest. Brent tried to ignore the way it made the fabric of his crisp blue shirt cling to his biceps even more, his collar always criminally unbuttoned when he wasn’t holding Royal Court. 

Brent leaned back against a pillar and raised his eyebrows. “No?” 

“No,” Jonathan whispered and took a step closer, causing Brent to swallow hard. “I’ve-- I’ve wanted this-- you-- for a while. And I-- think you feel the same.”

“That isn’t proper of a bodyguard,” Brent said, as if he were reading from some royal handbook that didn’t exist. “You’re my prince.” 

“Fuck _proper!_ ” Jonathan yelled. “I’m your prince, yeah, okay,” Jonathan said, rolling his eyes to himself in that way he did when he said something so ridiculous even he didn’t believe himself. “I’m all of Canada’s prince. But we’re more than that. We’ve always been more than that, Seabs, no matter how much you’ve fought it.” 

Brent dropped his head against the pillar, his palms itching. 

“Yeah. Yeah, we have been.” 

He risked a glance upward, saw Jonathan standing there blinking. 

Jonathan took a step closer. “So when--when I saw that you’d take a bullet for me, even though it’s your job. Well. It scared the fuck out of me. And it also made me wonder why I shouldn't say something. Do you know how fucking _hard_ it was watching you with Duncs? Why shouldn’t I say something? Life is too fucking short, man.” 

Brent’s mind was reeling, that Jonathan’s possibly felt this way for almost or as long as Brent had. “Your Highness, we--”

Jonathan took another step forward, closed the distance between them, their faces almost touching. Their closeness was a reminder that Brent had an inch and about twenty pounds on him. It wasn’t much, but in this moment Jonathan felt so incredibly small next to him. Like Brent could envelop him with his entire body. Like he could-- 

“Call me Johnny,” he whispered. “Please.”

“Johnny,” Brent said helplessly, their eyes locked. He had no idea who moved first or how he let go of his resolve for that one tenth of a second, but all of a sudden they were kissing and it was hot and slick and amazing, the plush push of Jonathan-- _Johnny’s_ \-- tongue against his own. He tasted amazing, like the after dinner cordial he’d consumed, like the chocolate he popped into his mouth as they were exiting the dining room. Like something else, something new and unfamiliar. 

Brent wasn’t sure he could ever stop now that he started.  
_____________________________________

So there he stood. In the Royal Courtyard, fountains and flowers all around him, the smell of early spring in the air, getting the most specular blowjob from the Crown Prince of Canada, and Brent was a liar. He didn’t need to wrack his brain over how they got here. Over what lead them here. He knew _exactly_ how they got here and he couldn’t go back anymore. 

He curled his fingers in Jonathan’s hair, loving when he he grew it out a little longer, and sighed, head falling back against the pillar as Johnny sucked him to the base, throat working, mouth pulling back and dragging his tongue up the underside. 

“Oh, god,” he sighed, tugging on his hair. “God, we shouldn’t-- Johnny, we fucking _shouldn’t_.” 

Reality came crashing down around him, however, at the sound of his own voice. They Shouldn’t do this. He shouldn’t have kissed, shouldn’t have let Johnny’s hands wander, let him rub against his cock, let him unbutton his pants and sink to his knees in his own Royal Courtyard. 

Shouldn’t call him Johnny. Shouldn’t forget his place. 

Johnny pulled off and looked up at him. His lips were slick with spit and blood red, his eyes all pupil, his cheeks ruddy. 

“We can,” he rasped, and Brent felt pre-come spur out of his dick at just the _sound_ of his voice. “I’m the fuckin’ Prince of Canada, Seabs” Johnny smirked, looking so fucking smug for someone who just had a mouth full of cock. “Of course we fucking can.” 

Brent reached down, thumbed his lips, groaned when Johnny sucked the tip of it between them, eyes never leaving his face. “You’re going to kill me,” Brent said with feeling. 

Something in Johnny’s eyes darkened. “Not if I can help it,” he replied, voice a little deadly. And right. Brent didn’t even think of it that way. 

“You might not be able to,” he said honestly. “Help it.” This wasn’t the type of conversation to be having right now with Johnny still on his knees. 

Johnny must have realized this because he sighed and leaned forward, kissing Brent’s thigh. “We’ll talk about those things later. Right now just-- please just let me do this for you, Seabs.” 

Brent nearly came at those words. He carded his fingers in Johnny’s hair and leaned back again as Johnny dragged his mouth over his balls and back up to his cock, licking along it’s length and gripping it in his palm. “I love when you call me that,” he gasped, closing his eyes. 

“Good,” Johnny mumbled. “Because that’s mine,” he whispered, before closing his lips over the head again. 

“Yes, Your Highness,” Brent said, but it was teasing this time, facetious. He got a pinch to his thigh for his efforts. 

Brent kept his fingers tight in Johnny’s hair and sighed his name. Not Your Highness this time, not Prince Jonathan, but _Johnny_. Each time he did Johnny moaned louder around his dick. 

He came down Johnny’s throat with a sharp cry, head thunking back against the stone pillar, as Johnny swallowed every fucking drop before pulling up with an obscene pop and wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Jesus christ,” Brent breathed, staring down at him with wide eyes. “I need to get you on a bed.” 

Johnny got to his feet, dragging his palms over the grass stains on his pants. “Lead the way,” Johnny smirked. 

Brent did, with a hand to the small of Johnny’s back until they reach the doors of the palace. He was struck by a thought then -- of the two of them out together, holding hands. He didn’t know how they could ever get there, but he wanted to.

One step at a time, though. 

Right now he was going to escort the the Crown Prince of Canada to his quarters and not leave directly afterward. He was going to strip him of his clothes, lay him out in his 800-thread count Egyptian sheets, and kiss and lick every inch of his body, the way he wanted to that day two weeks earlier. To feel Johnny’s flesh and blood and pulse beneath his palms. And then he was going to wake up next to him before going to eat breakfast with the rest of the staff, back to his place. 

Except maybe, just maybe, this had become his place too. 

It certainly felt like home when he closed the door behind them and fit himself into Johnny’s arms, their mouths moving together slowly, tongues licking inside until he was all Brent could taste. 

_Epilogue_

Six months later there was another Royal Ball. Johnny was bored again, trying not to roll his eyes as he stood, being introduced to all of the other royalty and political figures. Brent scooped some caviar into his mouth -- telling himself he couldn’t spit it out no matter how much he’d like to -- and smiled fondly in his direction, letting his eyes roam over Johnny’s inpectable tuxedo. He’d had his mouth on his neck earlier, gave him a hickey that forced Johnny to not be able to open his collar by the end of the evening. 

“You did that on fucking purpose,” Johnny muttered pissily as he stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom, Brent’s arms around his waist from behind. 

It was possible he did. It was possible he loved making Johnny sound like this as much as he loved making him laugh or moan. 

Brent knew the reason he was bored this time was not because he was dreading the evening’s dancing, but because he couldn’t wait for it to occur. 

“May I do the honors?” Johnny asked after walking over to the table Brent was seated at with Andree, Bryan, and Johnny’s grandparents. 

He held his hand out for Brent after bowing. 

Brent’s heart stuttered stupidly in his chest. This was their first official outing together, after announcing their relationship a week prior. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” Brent replied cheekily. 

Johnny smirked at him. “Who’s professional now?” he murmured when they were on the dance floor, their arms locked around one another’s waists. 

“Gave all that up, didn’t you hear?” Brent teased, brushing their cheeks together. Jonathan could still feel oddly small in his arms, despite his own size. Brent loved it in bed more than anything else, the way they’d wrestle one another, pinning each other to the mattress-- the way Johnny would ride his dick, back arched, Brent’s hands all over his ass. 

He shook himself out of the thoughts, his dick already hardening at the memories. 

“Mmm, I heard,” Johnny said, shamelessly grinding himself against Brent’s dick. Now who wasn’t being professional. 

Brent left the palace’s employ a few months ago, after numerous discussions and more than a few fights. It was best for Johnny’s image and best for their relationship. Brent might not officially be his bodyguard any longer, but that didn’t mean Johnny wasn’t still protected around him. Now he just considered that part of his role as boyfriend to the Crown Prince of Canada. They’ve discussed his returning to the Royal Guard, which he still may do down the line. 

Johnny’s new bodyguard was capable and respectful and the reaction to their coming out had thus far been a positive one. 

“How many dances do I have to put in before I can get you back to our room and fuck your brains out?” Johnny whispered against his ear, tongue darting out to flick at his lobe. 

Brent groaned low in his throat and tightened his grip on Johnny’s hips. “I’d say at least five.” 

Johnny made a noise of displeasure. “My life is so hard.” 

Brent laughed loudly, head thrown back. “Yeah, baby. It’s a hardship, alright.” 

Johnny’s eyes were twinkling when he looked back down at him. And then he was being pulled in by his lapels for a deep, dirty kiss that was in no way respectable for their first official Royal appearance together, but Brent couldn’t care around the hot curl of Johnny’s tongue against his own. 

Flashes went off around them, nearly blinding, but Brent just held onto Johnny. 

He didn’t plan on letting go. 

[end]

**Author's Note:**

> Just gonna leave [these](http://monalisasnmadhatters.tumblr.com/post/109142964429/1-25-15-team-toews-hawks-before-the-big-game) [gifsets](http://monalisasnmadhatters.tumblr.com/post/109148945199/troubaa-seabrook-has-been-impressed-with-the) [here](http://deflategate.tumblr.com/post/109046447505/x).


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